


Sad Songs for Lonely Lovers

by hanwritessolo



Series: You and Me and The Bottle Makes Three [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Feels, Drinking, F/M, M/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 20:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12218163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanwritessolo/pseuds/hanwritessolo
Summary: Of all the places you could end up on a drunken and stormy night, you end up right at the hands of a former lover.





	Sad Songs for Lonely Lovers

Ignis has never been a fan of surprises.

Most of his closest friends can attest to this, including you. He makes a business out of anticipating the worst-case scenarios; he detests feeling helpless and having no idea whatsoever on what to do next. Planning is his forte, and he greatly prefers having different plans and strategies available at his disposal, from Plan A until all the letters of the alphabet have been consumed.

So when he sees you on his doorstep at precisely two-fifteen a.m. rain-drenched and rather buzzed, all his wits fail him.

“Sorry for coming over unannounced,” you bite your lip, hair sopping and pasting on the side of your face, shivering from the cold.

“You’re soaking wet,” Ignis bewilderedly points out the obvious before he snaps back to attention, “Come in, please.”

He hastily ushers you inside his apartment, and you kick off your boots caked in mud in the entryway. You pad along in your socks, trailing behind Ignis. You notice that he’s wearing his usual choice of sleepwear—a white cotton shirt and a pair of gray sweats. You suddenly feel a pang of guilt for waking him up and unnecessarily causing him trouble.

“Let me get a towel and a change of clothes for you real quick,” he paces hurriedly before he disappears into the first room in the corridor, and you follow suit.

It’s a room which was once also yours, but now, it’s just his. You watch him shuffle along the drawers, the very same you both ceremoniously bought together as the first piece of furniture to replace his ragged old one. The smell of wood, pine, and coffee that blends and wafts the air continues to unearth a lot of memories you’ve worked so hard to bury over the past month.

If you’re being honest, you didn't want to be here. This is admittedly the last place in Eos where you want yourself to be. But this has been a long night and you were so desperate and helpless and you had to swallow your pride so you can survive in one piece — passing out in the pavement, especially in the middle of this storm, isn’t particularly a genius idea.

After all, who in their right mind would want to pay their ex-boyfriend a surprise visit at an ungodly hour, right?

“Found it,” he announces. “Here’s your clothes and a towel. You can change here—”

“I’m surprised you didn’t throw this out,” you cut him off, recognizing the band shirt he hands over to you. It’s yours, and it’s one of your personal things that you have yet to retrieve under his care.

“I ought to return that to you at some point, along with your other clothes,” he looks away, adjusting his glasses. “I just—”

“Never found the time,” you both say in razor-sharp unison. The words left a lingering leaden echo. For a fleeting moment, his eyes latches on to yours, and you break away.

“Well then… I’ll leave you here to change,” he heavily exhales and offers a gentle smile. “Join me outside once you're done, I’ll make your favorite latté.”

“Iggy, you don’t have to—”

“Please. I insist,” he looks at you and he smiles again, and something in your chest stings. Ignis steps out and closes the door behind him, and you're left to your own devices.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to suppress the good days that once was. But your head is a dick and amplified by liquor, and it mocks you with an unbearably vivid montage reel of all the ghosts of your memories with Ignis.

You remember the first time he kissed you, softly and sweetly, and told you that you tasted like strawberries.

You remember the first time you made passionate love that you swore he might break the bed.

You remember the first time he asked you to move in and your heart throbbed in excitement.

And you remember the first time he told you that he needed some space.

You shake your head and aggressively blink back the tears. You move to the bathroom and discard your denim jacket, pull over the dress that clung heavily in your skin, and toss them in the basket… shit.  _I don’t live here anymore,_ you uncomfortably thought, and you quickly make a mental note to let Ignis know that you’ll personally take care of your bearings.

You wring the water out of your hair, dry yourself with the towel, and take your fresh change of clothes. You return to the bedroom, and you study the room that you already had memorized. Nothing seems to have changed; the books in his shelves are still arranged the way you remember it. There’s also that photo of him with Gladio, Prompto, and Noctis perched over at his reading table… and a photo of you and Ignis, his arms wrapped around your waist, both of you looking exquisitely happy.

The stinging pain in your chest now radiates ten-fold.

All things considered, the breakup was mutual. Painful, but mutual. When Ignis asked for his space, you knew he meant _I need to detach from you indefinitely so I can focus on my job_ , which eventually felt like an indirect translation of _I need some time to review this relationship_. Of course, this is Ignis you’re talking about—he had a clear-cut vision of his priorities and his duties that you thought it best to step down from his growing list of things to worry about and make his life easier. You are rational; no hard feelings.

And rational as you were, the both of you remained good friends. He still sends you his usual food recommendations from time to time, while you reply with curated playlists you thought he should listen to at work. You both are in good terms, and all should feel better.

But then, you can also be utterly irrational, just like now. You're an emotional mess, a whirlwind of bottled up insecurities and fury and all things ugly.

Because deep down the darkest corners of your heart, you didn’t want to let him go. The day you left, Ignis never said a word. He didn't do anything wrong—he just didn't do  _anything_. He just watched you pack your bags and leave.

Everything in his life remained unchanged; except you’re no longer in it. He went on in his daily life, while you suffered in silence.

He let you go, when deep down you were waiting for him to do something, anything, to make you  _stay_.

You take a deep breath and heave whatever’s left from the fragments of your courage (and not to mention your pride and dignity) as you push the door open and make your way to the living room. Against the backdrop of the pelting rain, a soft, soulful music drifts away, one which you instantly recognize.

 _Don’t tell me you need me, I’m estranged_  
_And I’m overaged, the trouble it may be_  
_There’s still a part of me that has to know_  
_What you have to say_

It’s the song in one of the playlists you made for him, and you wince again at the memory of it.

“Hey,” you approach Ignis over his tiny makeshift bar, trying your best to look fine as you gingerly sit on the stool. He peeks at you over his shoulder, and he briefly returns to busy himself pouring your cup of coffee. “By the way, I wasn’t sure where to put my wet clothes, so I placed them in your laundry basket for the meantime—”

“It’s fine, I’ll take care of it,” he slides the cup to you over the counter. “Here you go.”

“Iggy, thanks—but wait, I can’t let you take care of my laundry,” you timidly protest.

“You’re in my flat, and you’re my guest, so allow me to be of service—”

“But, I—”

“No buts.” He warmly smiles, and Ignis takes the seat next to you. There’s no point in pressing further; you knew that once Ignis seals a sentence with a smile, it’s as good as a done deal.

You take the cup of coffee Ignis made for you and savor the warmth in your hands. You take a sip, and  _gods_ , how you’ve missed his coffee.

How you’ve missed  _him_.

 _Always with the ghosts of us in tow_  
_Stuck somewhere between a friend and foe_  
_Round and round we go_

“So,” Ignis clears his throat as he begins, “I trust that you appearing here at this gods-forsaken hour has an interesting story behind it?”

“Well,” you tuck your damp hair behind your ear and set the cup back down, fingers circling around the rim, “I was supposed to go home but it started raining and I lost my umbrella and my train card at the concert. And then I remembered we—I mean, you live nearby so I thought maybe, um… I’m really sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he reassures you, his attempt to dispel your worries. “You’ve had a rough night—”

 _I should have told you, yes, I’m to blame_  
_Oh, I took the blame, turned it into a serenade_  
_Oh, the mess I’ve made_

“No, I mean—I’m sorry,” your hands begin to tremble, and you chew your lip to control yourself from crying. “For  _everything_.”

Wide-eyed, Ignis immediately understands the gravity of your words. “No, none of what happened to us is your fault—”

“Iggy,” you breathe his name; he’s now standing in front of you, so close and only inches away, his eyes tinged with pain. “Then why didn't we try harder?”

You look at him with eyes searching and you let the question dangle heavily between the two of you, the silence deeply saturated with regrets.

 _Looking for a life beyond the end_  
_Stuck somewhere between a foe and friend_  
_Round and round again_

And just like the day you left, he doesn't say a word. All you can hear is the hollow sound of your own heart breaking for the second time.

“Okay, shit—I shouldn't be here—” you scramble clumsily to your feet as you wipe your eyes as the tears stain your face. “I’m really sorry for taking your time—”

And in one sweeping moment, Ignis interrupts you with his body, his arms pulling you against his chest. You thought you’ve forgotten, but your body remembers his so well that try as you might to stay afloat and fight against the feeling, you sink and you melt in his warmth.

“Don’t go,” he weakly begs, his usual cool voice betrayed and fractured with remorse. “I… I’m sorry. I was a fool for letting you walk away that day. I can’t have that again—not this time. Not  _ever_.”

He whispers, longing and pleading, something he should have said the first time you decided to leave.

“Stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Song reference is _Ghost_ by Lianne La Havas.


End file.
